Celebrin a Luin
by Feuer Drache 99
Summary: "If, on the darkest night, you chance to meet someone, do not trust them, even if they seem to be a friend." Frodo had heard that all his life, yet he had to ignore it now. He took a chance with telling them his name, and he could not risk another.
1. In the darkest night

Disclaimer: Okay, I haven't put one of these up for a while, so forgive me. I don't own Lord of the Rings, or anything, for that matter. Darn. Anyway, on with the show!!  
  
Frodo stopped running, hiding behind a tree. Putting his hands on his knees, he tried catching his breath, but failed. Still panting, he looked up into the branches of the tree he stood under, not caring if the raindrops got in his eyes. He closed them, and sighed, letting the rain wash over his skin. He shivered, and that brought him back to his predicament. Clutching his wet shirt, he opened his eyes. Frodo looked around him, and then looked down at himself. "I must look pathetic," he said to himself as he looked at his short brown pants, a bit tattered at the edges from running through bramble bushes; his slightly ripped, muddy shirt, not so white anymore; and his dirty, drenched raven black hair that hung in front of his eyes. Shivering again, he jumped when he heard a dark, indistinguishable voice whisper flatly,  
"Yes, you do."  
"Who are you?" Frodo asked into the darkness, reaching to draw Sting, but realizing with a pang of regret that he had left it with his belt at Bag End, along with his cloak, in his haste. The pitch-black night around him suddenly seemed a lot smaller, knowing that someone was with him, even if they are neither hostile nor friendly. "Who are you?" Frodo repeated, impatience underlying his tone. The shadow in the trees spoke again in the same dark voice,   
"You may call me Raven." The being stepped out from the trees, and walked over to Frodo, their hand on the black hilt of their small sword. A dark cloak, impossible in the darkness to tell what color it was, hung about their shoulders, the hood pulled up against the driving rain. Once they reached the half-shelter of the large tree, however, they reached up and flung the hood back, revealing a young man, obviously a hobbit, as he looked straight at the level of one. Light wavy brown hair, drenched darker by the rain, reached to his shoulders and looked extremely dirty. His skin was as pale as of one that is taken by death, but his eyes were different. Deep blue, silver flecks seemed to dance in them, but not with joy; but of a different emotion, maybe sadness, or loneliness, of what Frodo couldn't tell, darkness seemed to shadow them. Underneath his cloak he wore a dark brown jacket, covering a light chestnut-colored shirt. His hands, almost as pale as his face, had on them dark forest green fingerless gloves, and his right hand still gripped his sword hilt. Seeing Frodo had no sword, nor weapon whatsoever, he eased up a bit, releasing his hand from his blade. "I see you have nothing to protect you. What horror has befallen you, that you should run out into the thick of a rainstorm without sword nor cloak to aid you?" Frodo sighed, glancing behind him, then back to Raven.  
"I was running from someone. They were chasing me once they knew who I was." Frodo paused, and Raven asked,  
"And who are you?" The other hobbit hesitated, wondering if he could trust this... 'Raven'; he decided he could take a chance. He finally whispered,  
"Frodo."  
"Well then, Frodo, I think you should need this." He reached up and unclipped his cloak, handing it to Frodo, who tensed and faltered for half a moment before accepting it. Slipping it about his shoulders, he shivered and pulled it around him tightly.  
"Thank you...Raven." He nodded.   
"Do you need a place to sleep tonight? I know of an inn nearby." Frodo shook his head.  
"No, I can hopefully go home now," he said, looking at Raven, whose silvery-blue eyes awed him; how they seemed to glisten with tears, yet at the same time dared the world to come after him. Raven shook his head, staring straight into Frodo's eyes.  
"My name's not Raven," he said with an undertone of bitterness. "It's...Rayne."  
"I need to go home," Frodo said quietly, beginning to take off the cloak, but Rayne stopped him.  
"Keep it," he whispered, gently taking Frodo's hands from his cloak and placing them at the hobbit's sides. He smiled, Frodo weakly returned it, and Rayne stepped back. "I'll let you be on your way, Frodo. Take care on your way back." Frodo nodded, and Rayne turned back the way he had come.  
"Good-bye, Rayne. I hope we meet again," Frodo murmured. Rayne lowered his head as he walked, and whispered,  
"Farewell, Frodo. I hope we do too." 


	2. Decisions and Thoughts on the Matter

As Frodo walked the mile-long pathway back towards Bag End, he looked about him for his pursuer, but they had obviously given up. He sighed. He could not get Rayne out of his thoughts, no matter how much he tried. Shaking his head fiercely, as if to lose the impression the hobbit had on his mind, he thought of what Sam would think when, if, he ever told him about Rayne.  
"Yeah. I'll say, 'Oh hello Sam, guess what? I just met a hobbit out in the middle of a forest, in the pouring rain, at night, and he gave me his cloak.' I bet he would be really happy about that." He spoke to himself hesitantly as he walked, fingering Rayne's forest green cloak; he could now tell what color it was, as the rain had just let up to a light shower. All Frodo could think about was the blue-eyed, brown haired young hobbit, Rayne, all the way home.  
  
Sam was at the door, waiting for him.  
"Why hello, Mr. Frodo," he greeted, smiling, but Frodo could see the hurt in his eyes.  
"H- hello, Sam. Why did you stay up waiting for me? It must be at least midnight," Frodo said, sighing.  
"Yes, since the very hour you left I have been worrying about you." He paused. "Where did you get that cloak?" Frodo hesitated.  
"Ah... I found it," he answered quickly, with a sincere smile on his face.  
" Mr. Frodo. I don't believe you found it. You have that smile again. Besides, it is too nice a cloak to just be left out in.... um, wherever you went and lied you found it," Sam said, studying his master. "You met someone, didn't you? I can see you did."  
"Um... no?" Sam sighed as a mother would in dealing with a lying child.  
"Frodo..." he said sternly, in a voice that would warn Frodo to tell him or else.  
"Alright, I did."  
"Did what?"  
"Meet someone." Frodo suddenly corrected himself, "But not on purpose!"  
"Who?" Frodo bit his lower lip.  
"Uh... his name's... Rayne."  
"Who?" Frodo shrugged.  
"I don't know."  
"Frodo, you just told me his name."  
"His name is Rayne, and I accidentally bumped into him in the forest. He gave me his cloak because I was sopping wet."  
  
Sam sighed.  
"Fine. Come in then." Frodo looked at Sam as he hung up Rayne's cloak and knew he was hurt.  
"Sam," he whispered. "Sam... I'm sorry." Sam shook his head, not meeting Frodo's gaze.  
"Are you really?" he whispered. Frodo didn't answer, instead biting his lower lip. He reached out and touched Sam's shoulder, feeling it drop in heartbreaking misery at his touch.  
"Sam... why are you so unhappy that I met someone on accident?" Frodo stepped closer, and whispered, "Sam, I..." The hobbit turned away from Frodo and said,  
"Mr. Frodo... it's because... well..." Sam hesitated. "Why do you act like meeting... um..."  
"Rayne," Frodo provided.  
"Rayne... was nothing important, something not interrupting our... relationship?" Frodo lowered his head, dropped his hand from Sam's shoulder, and closed his eyes, silenced. Thoughts of Rayne drifted around in his head, clouding his concentration. 'Why won't he just go away?' he thought angrily. 'Because he is... different,' his mind argued.  
'No he's not. He's just a normal hobbit.'  
'He is different. You know it, Frodo.'  
'How do you know?!' he screamed mentally.  
'Because I can tell... because I am you.'  
'Tell me how Rayne is different than anyone else,' he thought.  
'Well... his name. It isn't exactly a common one, now is it?'  
'No...'  
'His eyes, they are blue and silver.'  
'Yes... they are.' His eyes...  
'And his skin. No hobbit is that pale. He looks as if he is sickly.'  
'Yes, but...'  
'His cloak, did it have a clasp on it?'  
'Yes.'  
'What does it look like?' Frodo finally broke out of his clouded thoughts. Sam was gone, and most of the house was dark except a dim candle in his room. He looked around for the cloak and found it. He grasped it and looked for the clasp. He gasped at what he saw.  
"Mr. Frodo?" Frodo jumped and whirled around. Sam was standing there, candle in hand.  
"Hello Sam." He paused. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Sam nodded, and said,  
"Yes, Mr. Frodo, and you should too." Frodo smiled slightly at Sam's caring tone, and sighed. Sam looked at the cloak in Frodo's hands, and said somewhat flatly,  
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Frodo looked down at the cloak and gently unclipped the clasp, hanging the cloak up. Slipping it into his pocket, he strode past Sam without a word and went into his room, closing the door.  
  
Frodo sighed as he sat down on his bed, carefully examining Rayne's cloak clasp. It looked like some sort of serpent, on closer inspection Frodo realized it was a silver dragon, with opened wings and mouth looking as if it was breathing fire. Its emerald eyes gleamed with the wisdom of ancient ways, something of which dragons always knew.  
"Wow," he breathed. "I wonder where he got this?"  
'I told you,' the other side of his mind said.  
"Oh be quiet," he voiced softly.  
'Is it Elven?'  
'I don't think so...'  
'Well then, what is it? If it's not Elven, and you don't know where he got it, then he must not be a normal hobbit.'  
'How is he not normal?'  
'Well... um... just because...'  
'Because...?'  
'Well, because all of the things that were discovered earlier, and now his clasp, and... things like that."  
"But I can't go about saying things about Rayne now until I get to know him," Frodo whispered absently. "And that might never happen." 


	3. Realizations and Regrets

Darkness surrounded the whole of the world, as far as Frodo could see. He took a step forward, as if to see if the ground was stable enough. Suddenly a pool emanated out of nowhere, seemingly magical. Not three steps away, the young hobbit decided to have a look. Approaching it cautiously, he peered into the inky blackness. He saw so many things at once: silver stars, glimmers of mithril, deep blue oceans, crimson blood staining the ground, gray steel, precious gold, cold, heartless ice, and yet, at the same time, saw absolutely nothing; nothing in the darkness that enveloped him and the pool.  
  
Then he saw a faded figure in the pond; a figure he somehow knew. Frodo gasped: it was Rayne. He kneeled down closer to the pool and stared into his glimmering silver-blue eyes. They were filled with tears, pain, and hope, yet stared ahead blankly. His face was covered in sweat and blood, showed pride and defeat at the same time; but he somehow was calm and clean. Frodo reached out to touch his face, but the instant his fingers brushed the water Rayne's image vanished.  
  
~~~~  
  
Frodo woke and sat up with a start. His shallow, quick breathing slowly returned to normal; beads of sweat rolled down his pale face. Still in the half-stupor of sleep, he whispered,  
"Rayne...why?"  
Hana emari, Frodo...  
  
Frodo jumped. "Wh-who's there?"  
Nethere...  
  
He sighed. "Oh, it's just the wind." He got up and shut the window, shivering. 'But that seemed so... real,' he thought, sitting back on his bed, not bothering to cover himself with the blankets. "And it sounded like Rayne..."  
  
He started. He was right; it did sound like him. But what was he saying? He couldn't understand the words, they were so faint, distant, quiet... He turned and looked out at the silver pale moon in the blue-black semi- darkness of the soon to arrive dawn. "Rayne..." he breathed.  
  
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and lay down. Tomorrow and the next day were reserved for the party preparations; he had to get some sleep for that. Sighing, he closed his eyes and drifted into a sleep no longer beset with nightmares of one he has only seen once...  
  
*The next morning*  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam knocked on his master's door. "Mr. Frodo?" He heard a detached mumble that sounded like,  
"I'm up, I'm up, okay? Now leave me 'lone." Sam sighed.  
"Well, since you're up, Mr. Frodo, I should tell you that breakfast is ready." Not a few moments after Samwise had gone back to the kitchen, a tired, half-awake Frodo opened the door.  
  
"Sam?" he questioned, walking into the kitchen after making himself reasonably presentable in the washroom. "I had the oddest dream last night," he said as he sat down at the table.  
"Another one?" Sam asked. Frodo nodded, mentally sighing.  
"Let me guess. It was about Rayne."  
"Yes, Sam. It was... I can't help it though, it's just...it's like he made such an impression, even though I may never see him again in my whole life, that if I don't I should go mad."  
  
Sam looked at his master quizzically.  
"Mr. Frodo? Are you alright?" Frodo ignored him and continued thinking aloud.  
"Hm... oh, Rayne...his eyes...they're, they're...oh, I don't know. I can't describe them. It's like...oh, it's like looking into endless pools of mithril, and silver, and...diamonds, and sapphires, and ice, and...oh I don't know what to say."  
  
Sam looked mildly hurt.  
"I see you have obviously taken a fancy to this young hobbit, Mr. Frodo. But oh, what can I say? When one does have a liking for someone, other things that that smitten hobbit may think about have been pushed from his mind." Frodo said nothing, and Sam immediately regretted what he had said. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. I didn't mean that, it's just...I better get started on the garden," Sam hastily whispered, and he quickly walked out the door.  
  
Frodo just sat there, thinking. He sighed, deciding he wasn't hungry. It was just a simple meal of oatmeal and milk anyway. He got up, went to his room, closed the door, and picked up Rayne's dragon cloak clasp that sat on the nightstand.  
'I think I'm the smitten hobbit,' he thought, staring into the dragon's emerald eyes pitifully. 'But why?' Frodo clenched his teeth, knowing tears would come, fearing they would threaten to spill over.  
  
'Because you care for him,' his inner voice whispered, always the troublemaker.  
  
"No I don't!" he snapped suddenly, surprising himself. That's all it took for the tears to come. 


End file.
